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Small thoughts of a heavy head

July 29, 2005

There are poets
And there are chatterers
Chatterers don't write poems
And poets cannot chat.

There are some old communists
And there are communists who are old
But when I see a young communist
I am amazed.

Anarchists are always young
Except when they are old
They only pretend to be young

Foreigners are always foreigners
Even when they feel at home.

Fat cats don't really care
As we know
But if genetically modified
They could breastfeed the mice

Bin Bush wasn't really elected
So, tripping on guilt within
He turned contrary without
Now he is fighting himself
In the rocky mountains of Hindu Kush

So, please
O' you
Bin Bush in Hindu Kush
Halt and rethink
As it is
Truly dangerous right now
To push

Nuclear bombs
Are not really bombs
They are potentials
Like seeds
Waiting for stimulation
To grow their mushrooms
Into irreparable destruction

Religions are not really about god
They are about the difficulty
To accept death
Like it is for
An autumn leaf
To drop

When religion meets despair
Life is not really life
But a prelife
Which can be spent
To buy real life after death.

Only fat cats need sophisticated arms
The poor for all that
Are themselves
The walking missiles.

To be fair
There are poets who chat
And chatterers who write poems
They're called
The chatty poets
And the poetic chatterers.

-- 26th September 2001

For letters section
To Vida Kashizadeh

Vida Kashizadeh


Book of the day

Borrowed Ware
Medieval Persian Epigrams
Translated by Dick Davis


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